Creep
by Altra
Summary: Draco's a convicted murderer, sentenced to life in Azkaban, but his term is cut short when Dumbledore comes calling for a Defense Against The Dark Arts professor. So, how can the worst wizard since Voldemort himself fit into Hogwarts?


Creep   
  
Chapter One : You know here are words for people like you...  
  
"Dammit."  
  
It was a chilly December morning. The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher kicked mercilessly at a scuttling squirrel.  
  
Now, I know what you're thinking. And really, what was a squirrel doing out in the middle of winter? The squirrel was a resident of the Forbidden Forest. All animals that came from the Forest were notably strange.  
  
But the weird squirrel isn't the focus of this story.  
  
If you had asked Draco Malfoy six months ago what he wanted to do with his life, you most certainly wouldn't have received Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as an answer. Well, six months ago, Mr. Malfoy would have been locked up in a cell in Azkaban, serving out a life sentence. And he was in that tiny cell until just a few hours ago. It had been a rude awakening to see Professor Dumbledore in the doorway of his less- than- humble- abode.   
  
Dumbledore had offered him a proposition. Join him as the new Defense teacher, or stay in Azkaban.  
  
While Draco wasn't the kind of person you'd leave your kids with, he wasn't crazy either. He had quickly accepted the old man's offer without a second thought. He didn't realize, however, that he would be given a Dementor escort to Hogwarts Great Hall. Draco groaned as he remembered that dreadful ordeal.  
  
Draco had been escorted from his cell to a boat, which took him from Azkaban to the mainland. From there, he, Dumbledore, his two Dementor escort, and some quiet witch he didn't recognize were hastily pushed into three Ministry cars. Draco was given a razor by the young witch. He gratefully shaved off the beard he had been unwittingly growing for the past six years.  
  
Of course, shaving in the back of a car with a dull razor and a cup of slightly soapy water didn't make the moment that enjoyable.  
  
He scooped out a bit of water and splashed his face, He gracefully flicked his fingers to get the water off, and successfully splattered the Dementors dilapidated robes. Neither seemed to care, but Draco felt them hungrily reaching for his heart. His pleasure in his tiny prank was quickly drawn from him.  
  
The young witch then handed him a clean set of black robes, ones with no metal attachments of any kind. He curtly nodded at her, before pulling off the tattered robes he was wearing. The witch went bright red, murmured something, and Apparated, supposedly to another car.  
  
But Draco didn't think anything of it. The woman had every reason to be nervous. She had been sitting in arms reach of the most notoriously evil man since Voldemort himself. And so Draco had no one to talk to. Well, except for the driver, and he seemed very intent on watching the road.  
  
"I hate to break it to you, but Dumb," Draco began, looking at one Dementor, " Dumber," he said, glancing towards the other one, "I can't do much magic without that wonderful invention called the wand." Draco put his hands in the air, wiggling his fingers. "See? No wand!" he said cheerfully. But, taunting Dementors is a very stupid thing to do. Each Dementor grabbed an arm and forced it down against the seat. The rotting flesh made Draco blanch.  
  
"Now wait a minute! Can't we discuss this like civilized-er... happiness draining creatures who feed off death and such?"  
  
This was one of the many times Draco wished he'd just stayed quiet.  
  
Both Dementors reached for his emotions at the same time. Draco screamed violently convulsing.  
  
"You bastard! You fu-" he began, but was abruptly cut off as the driver stupefied him.  
  
Draco had the benefit of a wealthy, fun childhood. Though it wasn't a white- picket memory, it was as pleasant as one could get. But happy- go- lucky jack asses don't just go and join Voldemort. No, Draco was threatened. And his family paid for his insolence.  
  
As a child, it was very apparent that Draco had a strong talent for the Dark Arts. he had the mentality. There was no need to convert his mind; no need to forcibly make him think of dark as good. But because of all the training in the Dark Arts he had, his skills in the Light Arts were less- than- dismal. Even the smallest levitation spell was hard.  
  
Not many people, bar the odd backwater scientist, know of this theory. The theory that magic is neither Light nor Dark, but it is the mentality one has.   
  
But McGonagall had noticed how any charm performed by the young Malfoy had a shadow in it's core. No matter how simple the charm, when one uses a Dark mentality, the charm will reflect that. However, she could do nothing about it. The theory wasn't proven, and she had no hard evidence.  
  
But if this story isn't about a squirrel, than it isn't about a theory either.  
  
When Draco was revived, he was quite surprised to find himself at the gates to Hogwarts.   
  
Hogwarts had very ugly gates. For such a beautiful, happy school, it had really ugly gates. Now, Draco had never seen the gates during his time at Hogwarts. They were always pulled open when the carriages brought the children at the beginning of each year. Whenever Draco snuck out, he always used a broom to fly over the lake.  
  
The hideous gates were made of a blackened metal, with crusty, white, limestone remains. They were twisted in a design, which somewhat depicted tow dragons killing a lion. But the skill was horrible. Whoever made the gates should be resurrected and killed.  
  
And just for the hell of it, he should be resurrected and killed again.  
  
But, as has been stated, this story isn't about some gnarly gates.  
  
So, Draco hauled himself out of the clunky metal thing, and was led by Dumbledore and the young witch through the gates. Revving engines attracted his attention. He turned, only to see two of the cars speed away. The Dementors stopped also, as did the young witch.  
  
"Ah, Percival! I was wondering why you had come along," Dumbledore said cheerfully. Percival Weasley, of Percy, had soared though the Ministry ranks. He no longer wore tattered robes or clunky glasses. He now wore Armani wizard wear, and Gucci thin rimmed glasses. Needless to say, Weatherby was doing quite well for himself.  
  
"Minister Fudge wanted me to make sure that Mr. Malfoy was led to the castle in hand cuffs and that he and his escort were fully settled in here," Percy said, gesturing towards the Dementors. Professor Dumbledore's face became grave.  
  
"I will not allow Dementors to be inside the castle," he stated calmly, but his eyes were flashing. It vaguely reminded Draco of morose code, but that was probably a Dementor-induced side effect.  
  
"Professor, my orders come directly from the Minister! I simply cannot-" Percy's face went blank. Weatherby must've finally realized that his worst memories were replaying through his head.  
  
And that's why Percy was the sharpest tool in the shed.  
  
"Percival, though I respect the Ministers _wishes_, Dementors cannot be allowed onto the grounds. The children will have enough trouble adjusting to Mr. Malfoy. Percival-, Mr. Weasley, are you all right?" Dumbledore questioned.   
  
Apparently he had just realized that Percy wasn't paying attention.   
  
"Headmaster, I- I think you are correct. The Dementors really shouldn't be permanently stationed at Hogwarts, but they _will_ escort The Devils Own to the Great Hall," he said, but he was obviously distracted.  
  
Draco snorted. He really hadn't the slightest clue hoe "The Devils's Own" had become his "crime" name. He certainly hadn't started calling himself that like Voldemort had. No, he had simply called himself "Draco Malfoy- the False savior."  
  
But if Draco Malfoy- the False savior was to be explained now, the rest of the story would lose it's punch, so don't bother questioning your CIA- bugged toilet.  
  
No, I'm not serious.  
  
Anyway, as has been stated three times, this story isn't about your espionage-ish privy.  
  
"We had better hurry. I expect the students are waiting to eat." And that was the end of that conversation.  
  
Hogwarts really hadn't changed at all. The gardens were covered in a light dusting of snow; the bushes looked as if Snape had been blasting around during the last dance. Draco couldn't help but snicker. He had personally never been caught in the bushes.   
  
No, he really never cared to have twigs scratch his very personal places.   
  
But Snape had caught Millicent and Goyle after the Graduation Ball. As a matter of fact, the whole school was aware of the fact because Snape's blast missed the bushes and hit Goyle square in the bum. He wailed like a baby, and in the middle of Hermione's speech about respecting the school, it's rules, and it's faculty.  
  
Well, at the time it seemed terribly ironic. It was one of those "you had to be there" moments.  
  
And yes, Draco was there.  
  
But that story doesn't effect this one, so don't bother taking notes about it. Goyle's bum wouldn't make lovely dinner conversation for you to share with your family.  
  
The thick stone walls at Hogwarts never really interested Draco. He was more interested in the mirrors. And why not? If you look _that good_ you can afford to be vain.  
  
But Draco would never admit he was vain.  
  
No, he would just rave on and on about his stunning good looks, and angel soft blonde hair.  
  
However, our darling hero didn't exactly have the luxury of comfort. And can you honestly tell me that you would be the epitome of calm indifference walking between two Dementors, two arch enemies and one undecided, all while walking into a life long teaching career?  
  
And, because the cookie happened to crumble this way, you also happen to be the most hated, most despised, most disgusting piece of flesh on the planet?  
  
All right, a very handsome but still hated and despised?  
  
Didn't think so.  
  
Now, contrary to popular belief, the doors to the Great Hall were always open during meals, and the noise could be heard through the thick walls and twisting hallways. Draco felt a nasty bubble of doubt rise in him.  
  
But that didn't last long, because Dementors happen to love doubt.  
  
According to rumor, it tastes just like chicken that's been fried and somewhat resembles coal.  
  
The Great Hall came into view, with most of it's students staring at the door, eagerly awaiting their new Defense professor. Draco stopped in his tracks.  
  
"Uh, guys, did they happen to tell you I'm a convicted murderer, once in-league with Moldy Voldie, and a stealer of candy from babies? Because, you know I'm kind of, how do I put this, bad?" Percy turned around, staring at Draco darkly.  
  
"This isn't some kind of joke. If you so much as _look_ at a student wrong, I will personally-"  
  
"Oh shut up," the "quiet" witch snapped.  
  
"Yeah!" Draco chorused, raising one of his shackled fists. "You tell 'em, sister!"   
  
One of the Dementors grunted, and each of them grabbed one of his arms and pulled him forward. As they entered the Great Hall, a collective gasp, and occasional scream was heard.  
  
The Great Hall hadn't changed that much either. The four long tables that seated the students were in the exact places. Slytherin and Ravenclaw on the right. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff on the left, and the teachers up on a small dais. Candles were held at strategic places by floating chandeliers that never dripped wax.  
  
But this story isn't about nifty no-drip candles.  
  
One girl at the Hufflepuff table shrieked at the top of her lungs, before fainting. Her friends surrounded her and were joined by Professor Sprout.  
  
"Ah hell no! Sorry Dumbledore, but fainting adolesenses? I'm a dead sexy wizard, but she's too young, so if you don't mind me, I'll be going-" Draco said, pulling back towards the door, fully ready to gnaw off his arm if the Dementors didn't let him go.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, you agreed. Unless you want to go back to Azkaban...?" Dumbledore said quietly. Draco slowly stopped fighting the Dementors, a scowl coming over his face.  
  
And why not? Scowls, drawls and smirks were trademarks of the Slytherin ferrets.  
  
Also known as Snowball. Just in case you were interested.  
  
But spiffy nicknames aren't the focus of this story either.  
  
"Now, if you will follow me...? And Percival, the Dementors can be escorted out now," Dumbledore lightly suggested. Percy nodded to himself, pulling a key out of his robes. He grabbed Draco's chained hands roughly, pulling the homicidal Slytherin around. He opened a section of the paddock, grabbed an edge of the chain, and pulled it so Draco's wrists were touching. He locked it again, and knelt before Draco, fishing out his wand..  
  
"Er... Perc, I'm not really into this whole "bondage" thing, and I'm pretty sure my bread is buttered on the _other_ side, if you catch my meaning." Percy's ears went red, but he only whispered a few words. Stainless steel shackles appeared on Draco's ankles, connected by sparkling chains. Percy stood, giving Draco one last glare, before leaving, the Dementors trailing in his wake.  
  
Draco moved one foot out from under his robes, twisting the ankle about.  
  
"Shit damn! Brand new chains! Now _there's_ luxury," he said, glancing towards a nearby Gryffindor sixth year who was scared spitless. "You know, they've only got the rusty ones at Azkaban, and they chafe like hell 'cause it's so damp there. It figures Hogwarts would have nice shackles."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I do believe your seat is up on the dais," Dumbledore said, motioning with his arm towards the stairs.  
  
"You know-" Draco began as he followed Dumbledore's directions, "-if these stairs are too far apart I'm afraid I'll be eating on the ground. But gosh golly gee darnit, my new chains are so durn perty!" Draco was, in fact, able to make it up the stairs, which made everyone happy.  
  
Or at least as happy as one can get when breaking bread with serial killers.  
  
I remember when I was really little, I thought serial killers killed the cereal mascots. You know, Tony the Tiger, Trix the Rabbit, that freaky bird.  
  
My friend thought the killers put the bodies in cereal boxes.  
  
But, childish nightmare images of decapitated leprechauns has nothing to do with this story.  
  
The quiet witch led Draco down to the final spot on the long table. His plate was separated from the others, which were rather bunched towards the other end. Draco flopped on the bench, flapping his elbows up and down.  
  
"All right! Elbow room!" he exclaimed, oblivious to the terrified people.  
  
"Hello students," Dumbledore said, smiling at Draco. "As you can tell, Mr. Malfoy is to be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. You have nothing to fear from Mr. Malfoy, as Miss Patil," he said, indicating to the quiet witch, "-will be watching Mr. Malfoy at all times." Draco snorted, his face turning red with surpressed laughter.  
  
"Is there something funny about being kept under constant surveillance?" Professor McGonagall spat with unconcealed hatred.  
  
"Well, he said she'll _always_ be watching me," he said, before dissolving into laughter. A few people at the Slytherin table smiled, before quickly trying to look stupid and constipated.  
  
Parvati Patil's face went bright red with indignation.  
  
"Oh! That's not what he meant and you know it!" she huffed.  
  
"Do I now? You saw that girl fainting over my manliness! You sure you can hold against my mad sex appeal while I'm scrubbing with the yellow ducky?" Draco inquired, leaning over the table.   
  
The Slytherin table burst out laughing, dropping all pretense of needing Citricel.  
  
"Shut up, ferret!" she hollered.  
  
"Make me, bugger!"  
  
"You're just arguing 'cause you know you're acting like an idiot!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not!  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not, am not, am not, am not!" Draco whined, slamming his hands on the table and standing up.  
  
"Are too infinity!" Parvati screamed, doing the same. By now, most of the teachers were whispering to one and other, the entire Slytherin house was laughing, the Ravenclaws were speechless, the Gryfindors were plotting ways to be heroic, and the Hufflepuffs were quivering.  
  
But who cares?  
  
"Oh, both of you shut up!" Professor Snape hissed. Severus Snape had deifnatly seen better days, Draco decided. Why, he once had long, greasy black hair and a crocked nose. Well, he still had the greasy long hair, but a streak of gray ran through it, and his nose was almost at a ninety degree angle.  
  
Oh yes, Severus Snape had seen _much_ better days.  
  
"Snapey! Well now, I though I'd killed you!" Draco said with a large smile. "Isn't this great? You've got to be the only person I ever fed to my dragons who lived!"  
  
"Yes, it is so amazing," Snape said in a monotone.  
  
"So, did you hide in their shit like I suggested? You know, I told all 15 people I sent in there to do that, but only you did. I guess it worked. Who knew what important things you can learn from muggle pictures!" Draco said, in a uncanny off hand manner. Needless to say, the entire student body was scared (and gossiping about Snape in dragon poop).  
  
And wouldn't you be too, if a mass killer talked about sending 15 people to become fertilizer like one would examine paper clips?  
  
"Perfectius totalis!" Parvati spat. Draco's arms snapped to his sides, legs clamped together and he finally shut up. After a few mintues, Dumbledore concluded his speech and dinner was served.  
  
Draco spent the whole meal trying to keep his eyes crossed. The students began leaving, and Draco was finally unfrozen.  
  
Stretching his arms, Draco snapped his jaw, attempting to get feeling back.  
  
"You know, " he began, trying to cut his meat when his wrists were touching. "That wasn't very nice."  
  
"Oh shut up! People don't like to listen to your reflections when they're eating!" Parvati said curtly, pulling his plate across the table and viciously slicking the meat.  
  
"Thanks! And these kids should know I'm not some flake, that I was put in the Big A for a reason," Draco said, taking a sip of his peach juice.  
  
"You're welcome. And believe me, anyone who has even a tiny bit of a brain knows who you are and what you've done," Parvati replied, pushing back his plate with freshly cut chicken fried steak.  
  
Okay, so the house elves were on a mid-American kick.  
  
"Well yes, but where I was a little angel-" Parvati snorted, "-everything I heard about Voldemort seemed so surreal. His actual evilness didn't hit me until I killed him," Draco said, plucking a piece of chicken with his fork before diving it into the mashed potatoes.  
  
"Why did you kill Voldemort, anyway? From what I've heard, he thought of you as the son he never had," Parvati said after a long pause. The Great Hall was deserted, not a single student, teacher, or ghost left.  
  
"It's quite simple, actually. At first, I was very adamant at not joining. He- well, to put it bluntly, he threatened to kill my parents if I didn't. I wasn't about to let him kill my family, so I agreed," Draco said, in a far off manner. Parvati reached for the platter of candied yams, giving herself a generous portion.  
  
"But, didn't he kill them?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Yes. Right after I was initiated he- he put me under the Imperious and tried to make me-" Draco broke off suddenly.  
  
And why not? You don't just go and spill your life story to someone you really just met. Draco got up and left the Great Hall, making for the gardens.   
  
And that, my greatly uninterested listener, is where you came in.  
  



End file.
